


Keeping Up with Kirkwall

by ADashOfStarshine (ADashOfInsanity)



Series: Keeping Up with Kirkwall [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Demisexual Fenris, M/M, Trans Character, non-binary characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADashOfInsanity/pseuds/ADashOfStarshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally having placed his family back into their traditional home, Hawke believed he could have a quiet life amidst the streets of an orderly suburbia. What he hadn't anticipated was the posturing, the dinner parties, the competition, and the sheer insistence on fashion, etiquette and pot-pourri. </p><p>And if keeping up with Kirkwall wasn't bad enough, he's gone and entangled himself with a dangerous but undoubtedly gorgeous elf. </p><p>Well, at least that adds a little excitement to what eventually could drive him mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Up with Kirkwall

“We've sunk to the lowest of the low.”  
  
Hawke made it over just in time to hear Anders complain audibly over his pint.  Phone in one hand and glass in the other, he was making some sort of vague waving motion with both.  Varric and Isabella's gazes followed the phone like two spectators at a tennis game. Back and forth, back and forth, though perhaps with less speed. Anders was clearly making the most of his day off.  
  
“How low did you go?” Hawke asked amusedly, taking his usual spot between Varric and a potted plant that smelt faintly of piss. As Anders wiggled his phone at him, Hawke thought it wise to rescue it from a costly fall. He carefully prized the device from the ex-doctor's hand and took a look at what had him so agitated.  
  
_You'll be shocked at what 20 EVIL things mages did to this family._  
  
_You'll never guess which of these busty blondes is a mage!_  
  
_The sinister meanings behind graffiti – are there blood mages near you?_  
  
Hawke put the phone down. Anders needed to take a few more days off if he was getting worked up over click-bait. That aside, he had some catching up to do whilst Isabela undoubtedly did scandalous things to Ander's internet history.  
  
“So?” Varric slid a full glass over, “Eleven? This is early even for you Hawke.”  
  
The sigh he gave was an explanation in itself but he wasn't going to pass up this chance to whine.  
  
“Have you been treated to a morning of unpacking family photos? If I hear 'when your father and sister were still alive' one more time... well.”    
  
He took a gulp of his drink.  The consoling pat on the knee was welcome, even if there would be bruises later from Varric's rings. Drinking in the morning wasn't exactly his thing. Yet when the alternative was a trail of not-so welcome thoughts, he was open to trying almost anything. Which admittedly brought back some rather sticky memories of Isabella's fake hen night. The memories stuck because he could never look at a kebab in the same way again. not because of the copious amount of glitter glue that had ended up down his shirt.  
  
“Well I was saying before you arrived,” Varric said, “You've got us  wondering when you were going to throw a fancy do in that new place of yours.  Welcome in the new  with a few memorable accidents. Worked for Merrill's place.”  
  
Hawke wrinkled his nose at the mention of that elf.  The accidents had indeed been memorable but when an evening ended with a little show of... Well even after all that elderflower and whatever wine, he knew when to call it a night. Or when to storm out of someone's house with a face like murder, still holding one of their sofa cushions. He still hadn't given it back. Maybe he should mount it on the wall like a trophy. Or turn it into something useful, like the seat part of a stool.  
  
“You'll get your party don't worry,” he assured Varric. He wondered if the stool could feature at said party and whether he would invite Merrill just for the pleasure of showing her.  
  
“But let's get all the furniture in the house first before anyone uses them for drunken musical numbers,” His gaze went in Isabella's direction.  
  
“Oh you'd have loved it if you'd let me continue” she assured him over her rum and coke, “I would have let you take far more home than that tatty old pillow.”  
  
“You'll find we had a wonderful night together,” was Hawke's airy response “We watched a movie. Played some games.  Had some snacks. For a cream cushion it was remarkably stain resis-”  
  
His tale of upholstered romance was cut short, for suddenly the door to the Hanged Man burst open. The pub fell silent as a dwarf, who looked in need of a stiff drink, took one look at all the staring patrons and went an unhealthy shade of puce. He gripped the door frame as if gravity was going to stop working any moment now.  Slightly more alarming was the blood dripping down his neck.  
  
“Anso!” called Varric, displaying once again his uncanny ability to know everyone and their aunt.  
  
“Anso get over here and explain what's going on. You look like you're about to start defecating bricks.”  
  
Assuming Varric had everything covered, the bar resumed its usual level of bustle. Anso, the pasty dwarf, wobbled his way over to their far table with haste. He narrowly avoided knocking over one of the barmaids, but as soon as he was in reaching distance, Varric had him pulled closer and talking.  
  
“Start from the beginning Anso,” he stated, impeccably calm as always.  
  
“There's no time for that, no time!” Anso turned to look at the door, ringing his hands, gaze darting from the entrance to the table as if judging the distance.  
  
“There's...There's a fight.  Or a mugging or-or  a robbery or something worse. Right outside my storage lot! There were men, human men, all in black with their faces covered and-and they were armed. Right outside my storage lot! You've-they've- You've got to help me! I've-I've got goods in there and if they take them! I'll-I'll have nothing!”  
  
He looked up at them all with eyes as round as the table coasters.  
  
“Have you called the police?” Varric asked. Anders and Hawke gave twin snorts of derision. Considering you could probably get a pizza here before the police, that probably wasn't an option right now.  
  
“I...I...” stammered Anso, “I don't want them, well, it would be awkward if they saw my goods. It's kind of... embarrassing,” He lowered his tone.  
  
“I might have a bit of well, how to put it... Not in dangerous quantities mind you, it's all quite safe, just not very, er, legal. I didn't intend to sell it to anyone bad and the people I got it from were good, I swear but if...”  
  
“Ok, we gets it's lyrium,” Hawke interrupted, “So if time is really of the essence. What's in it for us if we help?”  
  
This wasn't really how he had planned to spend the rest of the day. However a fight at the back of some filthy storage lot was far preferable to sniffing different varieties of pot-pourri with his mother and pretending he knew what the difference was.  
  
“Oh, oh I'd pay!” Anso replied, wiping his sweaty palms on his increasingly streaky shirt, “I'd pay well, once I got my-my goods sold!  If I have any left, you-you could have some. You know, gratis, with compliments, as they say in...in other places.”  
  
A chance to set something on fire and prospects of bootleg lyrium? Well this could be an adventure.  Hawke glanced round at the others.  
  
“I'm in. I'm running short,” Anders admitted, glancing at Hawke, “And unlike someone, we don't have big posh houses full of cash.”  
  
They could have this argument later if time was really of the essence.  
  
“Isabella? Varric?”  
  
“Well you're not going to get anything done without me,” replied the con-woman,. She zipped up her leather jacket to bust height and stood ready.  
  
Hawke turned to Varric.  
  
“Do I even have to ask?”  
  
The dwarf merely smirked as he picked up the case holding his beloved Bianca. He was probably already brewing an new plot-line for Hard in Hightown -the Hardening, or whatever the next one was called.  
  
“Fine,” Hawke stood up, lifting his coat as he went, “Anso, where's your storage lot?”  
  
“No need,” Varric said, “I know the way. Sold him the place myself. Anso...”  
  
He put a hand on his fellow dwarf's shoulder and steered him into Ander's vacated seat.  
  
“You stay here. Put what you want on my tab.”  
  
The storage turned out to be less of a lot and more a tiny building down a decrepit looking side street. Though the road was remarkable only for its littering of chip shop wrappers, Hawke felt surprisingly uneasy as he disturbed its wobbly paving slabs. It was quiet. Unnaturally so, considering there was supposed to be a fight going on. Or a robbery. It occurred to Hawke, as they walked past an ominously dark alley, that Anso had not been very specific in description of this conflict. It implied some sort of victim. There would have to be someone being mugged, or being fought. Anso looked like he was going to wet himself but otherwise, he seemed fine. He would have mentioned if he'd had his wallet taken. Dwarves were precious enough over their money. So who had been attacked? Were they really just after the lyrium? If so, why had Anso got away? Surely the attackers wouldn't want any witnesses. Wouldn't be easier just to knock the dwarf out before robbing him blind? A little cut on the neck might be scary but it just made sense not to let Anso go running for aid. Unless that was what they wanted.  
  
“You've got that look in your eye,” Isabella informed him, “The one that means you don't like what we're dealing with.”  
  
“We could care to know more about what this is,” Hawke replied, keeping his voice down as they drew closer, “There's a dozen reasons why someone would be after each of us. And it doesn't look like Anso would be too hard to scare into playing his part.”  
  
“Then why did you agree without asking more? You're supposed to be the leader of these things.”” There was a note of accusation in Ander's voice. The drunken slur was thankfully absent.  
  
  
“ I fancied a fight, why else?” Hawke fixed his gaze on the storage. The main entrance was a mundane looking garage door. There was a small window off to the side and nothing was lit. Neither were there any signs of these so-called attackers. Either Anso was a very good actor, or there was a genuine threat around. Anso didn't seem like the stage sort.  
  
“He's weak at the knees but he's no liar,” Varric stated, as if he'd read Hawke's mind, “If Anso has got his knickers in a twist, there's something in there Bianca's going to want to see. The place is one big room, a bit of attic space, boarded ledge, ladder access. But what you see when you open that door is what there is.”  
  
It sounded simple enough, open the door and barrage the place with gas and magic, see what the resulting carnage was. He wasn't exactly a sophisticated fighter but due to the fact Aveline wasn't here to join in the fun, they didn't have to work about accidentally freezing one of their own.    
  
“Well if anything or anyone's in danger, we're not going to help them by dithering about here,” Anders pointed out, “We go in or we head back to the pub. Choice is yours, you do tend to end up leading these things Phillip.”  
  
Hawke frowned at the use of his first name and glanced at Isabella. In the present company it was her intuition that could make or break a decision. He wouldn't exactly place his life in her hands but she had never let him down in the past, whatever her personal interests might be.  
  
Her response was a shrug and:  
  
“What's fun about an unsprung trap?”  
  
That was that then. Hawke cleared his throat, swept his hair from his face, and peered at the darkened lot.  
  
“Right, Isabella get as close as you feel comfortable with and get a close at that door. Security, locks, do the works. Anders, take the defensive, patch any of us up as soon as we get hurt as we're not exactly made to take hits. Once the door is open, if we get attacked, usual cover, stab and burn routine. Isabela, try and get someone out for answers. Don't bother if they look like normal thugs.”  
  
“Aye aye,” Isabella gave a salute before darting off towards a gap between the buildings. The other two merely nodded. They hadn't done this a great deal since Hawke and Varric had found their fame and fortune. There was no need to do dirty jobs anymore for anyone and everyone who asked. Admittedly Hawke missed it. He loved his new memory foam mattress and designer shirts to bits but...well, you did get bored if all you had to do was work, sleep and flash your cash.  
  
Here however, something was definitely waiting for him. It was far too quiet for the middle of the day. They were only a few streets from a decently busy road. He could just about hear the rumble of traffic and the bell on the chip-shop door round the corner. However this road, dirty and free of even birds, would seem abandoned  if not for reason they were here. No one had even parked their car down here. It probably would be nicked if they did.  
  
Three loud pigeon coos came from near the storage – Isabella's way of letting them know it was safe to approach. Varric pulled Anders off to the left hand side of the garage, where a narrow alley ran back towards a brick wall and a cluster of bins. Hawke chose the right hand side, noting Isabella was making quick work of the rather simple looking garage lock.  
  
Two more pigeon coos for the benefit  of the others and she retreated beside him.  
  
“I blow that lock and the door will lift right on up,” she whispered, “Ready Hawke?”  
  
“As ever I'll be,” he replied.  
  
Isabella let out one more coo. She pulled a tiny switch from her pocket and jammed her finger on the button. The resulting creaking and clatter of falling metal was far louder than the explosion itself. Wisps of smoke drifted to ankle height before dissipating as, with a creak of rusty hinges, the garage door swung open to reveal...  
  
“Bugger all,” Varric commented, peering round from the alley. He came out, Bianca in hand, peering into the dingy storage lot with a distinctly disgruntled expression on his face. Anders subdued the glowing at his fingertips and crossed his arms.  
  
There was indeed nothing inside. Nothing but a few old crates stacked in one corner, their lids off and their contents clearly gone. Isabella stalked over, keeping an eye out for traps.  However she got to the crates with no problem.  
  
“Well if you can turn dust to gold, we're stinking rich. Otherwise, let's go back to the pub.”  
  
“And Hawke can buy the next round,” Anders added, “For getting us worked up for nothing.”  
  
“Fair enough,”  Hawke acknowledged with a cough, “After I get answers from Anso.” Disappointment had settled somewhere near his throat. Back to throw cushions and pot-pourri then. He'd said he'd only go down to the pub for lunch and now he was out of excuses.  
  
“I'll get a few of my own.” Varric hefted Bianca back into her case as he returned to the road outside. Hawke meanwhile took one last look round the storage and sighed. He beckoned for Isabella to give up on the place and strode out.  Anso could lock up, or get a new lock, when he next came back here. It wasn't as if there was exactly anything worth stealing.   
  
“Err...Hawke,” came Varric's voice from around the corner. The nervousness in the dwarf's tone was palpable.  What had he...oh.  
  
Men lined the previously deserted street, blocking off every alley, every way out. They stood resolute amidst the dustbins and chip wrappers. Their faces were covered in scarves and masks, leaving only the slits about their eyes, which squinted in the brightness of the day. Had they been lying in wait this whole time? How had they not noticed them? Were they outside the street and only entered when they were inside? No way of knowing, no time to care either. They were completely surrounded.  
  
“That's not the elf,” said a man at the forefront. He spoke with a thick accent Hawke couldn't place. For all intents and purposes however,  he looked like these men's leader. The man was wielding a baton, much like Aveline's  though it was black with a gold band about its handle. Those weren't police colours.  
  
“None of us our elves, my good man,” Varric assured him, “One dwarf and three very boring humans. You appear to have made a little bit of a-”  
  
“Shut it Dwarf!” The leader's shout had even his men recoiling slightly. He was tensed for a fight. Hawke knew a man who had something to prove, and this one was showing all the tell-tale signs. He was snappy, wanting to exert dominance on all he faced. The overly-tight grip on that baton showed he was ready to leap into battle at any provocation. However his roving gaze and unsteady feet betrayed an undeniable tinge of fear. Something was at stake and there were far too many men here for this to be a mere robbery. Especially on such a small and unremarkable property as Anso's.  Whatever the case, they weren't being won over by Varric's silver tongue. Never a good sign.  
  
“Orders were to kill anyone who came out of that building,” barked the leader, “So what are you slobs waiting for?!”  
  
A string of low curses came from the direction of Anders as the men advanced. At first they seemed unsure, treading slowly, glancing about as if searching for a target other than those directly before them. For a moment, Hawke wondered if they were even going to attack. However their leader let out another yell and all descended into chaos.  
  
Smoke. The enemies' or theirs, Hawke couldn't tell but it had left an opaque barrier between them and the approaching forces.  Hands heated, ready to cast at a moment's notice, he backed away with the others.  Bianca was primed. Isabella slicked up a dagger.  Ander's fingertips had darkened with something decidedly unhealthy. Hawke still didn't fancy their odds against such numbers. Luckily they didn't have any reason to stick around.  
  
“Varric, tell me this road goes somewhere,” Hawke exclaimed as black shapes began to move through the fog.  
  
“I wish I could Hawke, I wish I- ” Bianca fired as their assailants burst through the mist. A quick check on everyone's location and Hawke lit up the street like a box of fireworks. The screams of burning people were never quite as nostalgic though as the screeches of Catherine wheels.  
  
Their usual fighting 'style' was to cause pandemonium, and they were certainly giving the regular plan their all. Isabella had vanished into yet more smoke. Which, whilst good cover from the enemy, meant it was hard to pick out friend from foe. Hawke chose a corner by a postbox and stuck to it. Ice and fire were useful enough deterrents. The faint blue glow somewhere to his left probably meant Anders was nearby.  Not quite blue enough for Justice, but it definitely meant the mage was on the offensive. Hawke turned, the paving slabs rippling around him as he sent a great surge of concrete up, knocking back two men up and against h a nearby building. A rather sickening crack announced their fall.  
  
“Nice one,” said Isabella from somewhere near his right, “Bit close though.” She shoved a blade through a man's throat and let him collapse to the floor.  
  
“How long is this bloody smoke going to last?” was his less than impressed reply  
  
“Five minutes tops,” Isabella vanished from sight again but he could hear the grunts of her opponents, “Then we'll really see what we're in for.”  
  
However inconvenient it was then, by the time the mist did clear, Hawke wished profusely that it hadn't. They were outnumbered, easily, and the other side had reinforcements.  All those they'd slain between them had barely made a dent in their numbers.  Whilst it was easier now to provide a little aerial bombardment, Hawke couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding every time fresh footsteps came from the road's entrance. Why, in the name of everything unholy, were there so many of them?  
  
“Cheer up Hawke,” said Varric. There was blood running down his face and Hawke wasn't entirely sure it was his. The dwarf paused to poison another bolt and reload.  
  
“Think of it this way. It's not the Deep Roads.”  
  
“True” Hawke replied, “Still, I could do with a giant spider right now. We could ride it over the buildings out of here.”  
  
Varric's laughter was lost over the cries of battle. There was no more time for chatter as they were targetted by a trio of archers who had set themselves up on a nearby roof Varric returned fire as Hawke set to roasting anyone who dared step within range. That arrangement only lasted as long as the archers did however. They were forced to split as they heard a familiar cry of pain from an alley two buildings forward. Varric gestured for Hawke to go and he sprinted over corpse and slab alike to find Isabella and Anders cornered against a dumpster.  
  
The looks on their faces as he promptly froze and shattered all their assailants was quite something. Perhaps that was because he was ripping apart the pavement though.  
  
“Hawke!” Isabella suddenly cried, “Behind you!”  
  
He turned just in time to give the stealthy opponent an ill-timed punch to the face. Off-balance but on target, he cursed a blue streak as he definitely felt something tear in his chest. The man was sent sprawling long enough for Isabella to grab his knives and sheath them in his neck. Anders meanwhile took the opportunity to grab a hipflask from his belt and take a determined gulp. From the blue tint his lips had taken, he wasn't just drinking to dull the pain.  
  
“Hawke!” Varric called, “Hawke, a little- never mind!”  
  
“Never... mind?” Hawke hurried out, hands glowing, chest throbbing with pain. He wasn't spared the chance to work out why he was no longer needed. Rushed by three more enemies, he let out a deluge of flames that incinerated the first but left the other two barely scorched. Damn it. He was getting drained. His hands were getting itchy, too sensitive to his own magic, as he ripped apart the street, knocking the other two off their feet. They didn't go flying though. He needed a drop of Ander's lyrium draft. Of course the doctor had made himself scarce.  
  
He fought his way across the road. His spells getting steadily more pathetic with every step he took. Soon a punch to the gut was the only way to clear the way. Which would be fine if not for the fact there was blood pouring down his chest and he had no energy left to heal.  
  
  
  
“Anders! Anders!” He kicked a man back to the floor as he attempted to grab him round the ankle.  
  
“Anders! Fuck!” He collapsed, elbowing his opponent in the face.  
  
“Don't think this is really the time, do you?” Of course Anders had to show up just when Hawke was making a fool of himself. He pulled himself off the unconscious man before managing to pant.  
  
“Yes, ha ha, lovely. Lyrium, please, now... don't want to leave the others, but you know, I'm bleeding out here.” He gestured to the blossoming stains ruining his white shirt.  
  
Anders took a swig of the flask before handing it over. The contents went Hawke's throat like he'd just taken a mouthful out of a beehive. .  
  
“Hold still,” Anders fussed, hands aglow over Hawke's chest, “Those private surgeons of yours didn't do a very good job then did they?”  
  
Once again it was not the time and place to argue with Anders. He was probably enjoying the fact he had Hawke before him ruining one of his expensive afternoon-with-the-mother shirts.  
  
“Well I don't think they thought I'd be punching anyone any time soon,” Hawke retorted, “So hurry up and stop it with magic. Isabella and Varric-”  
  
Anders swatted him on the arm to keep him from casting where he sat.    
  
“I don't think you should  fight at all with stitches in- I said hold still. That elf is covering them just fine for now.”  
  
“What elf?” Hawke spoke through gritted teeth, “Don't say you called Merr-agh!”  The sensation of his skin knitting itself back together was not a pleasant one, but thankfully it was over quickly. He'd have to book another appointment as soon as he got through whatever this was.  
  
“Done,” Anders announced, “Now go. Just...save yourself the heroics and stick to casting.”  
  
“Aye aye.”  Hawke got gingerly to his feet, one hand clapped to his chest. There was some comfort in the heat of his hands, feeling the power surge back to his fingertips. Well it was a little better.  Now where were Varric and Isabella?  
  
 Sprinting over upturned paving slabs and ridges of torn tarmac, Hawke fought the pain  with equal ferocity to his now-fiery assault on the enemy. Varric had taken up position near the now very cracked postbox with Isabella throwing salvaged knives at anyone who got too close. Before he had gone down, Hawke would have said they were in trouble. However there couldn't be any more than half a dozen enemies left. He hoped they wouldn't be prostrating themselves before Merrill before the end of the day. He only tolerate a certain level of pain.  
  
“Hawke,” Varric called, his next bolt sailing past Hawke's shoulder and into the knife-wielder he'd been about to torch.    
  
“Yes?” Hawke panted as he leant on the postbox. He pressed one hand firmly on his chest in an attempt to relieve the pain through magical means.  
  
“I think they found their elf.” Varric pointed one stubby finger at Anso's storage.  
  
Hawke turned just in time to see a man in black dart out from an alley, only to be pummelled in the stomach by the branched end of a metal pipe.  For a moment Hawke was left to question how anyone could wield something that was as long as they were tall. However as the elf finished off another assailant with a sickening crack, Hawke stopped caring. He had a few nuisances of his own to deal with.  
  
The rest of the battle felt like it took no time at all. Their unexpected ally had proved themself quite the front line fighter, allowing those who needed a little range to have it. The pain in Hawke's chest hadn't subsided, but he was at least able to focus on something else. To put his distraction simply: the elf glowed. They gave off a searing light, sometimes white, sometimes a little more blue.  Not only that either. Hawke had been tearing up more of the pavement, when he was sure, _absolutely sure_ , he saw the elf stick their hand straight through a man's chest. Whole hand, and whole glove on said hand, straight through a man's chest, possibly grabbing the man's heart! It was the likes horror stories were made of. Yet this elf... Well they were so unlike Merrill, they were instantly the best elf Hawke had ever encountered. Yet after all this, he was going to need answers. Answers on how someone glowed and stuck their hands through people. If it was possible, he'd quite like to learn. Of course it was also important to know why they were being pursued.  
  
Pickpocketing the dead proved disappointing. Varric promised to have the weapons gathered up and sold, but they couldn't exactly walk through the streets with arms full weaponry. Well at least not in the morning.  Hawke let the others pocket the money. A few odd trinkets caught his eye though. Badges, one wristband, and an old-fashioned pocket watch, all with the same motif on it. The image was of a feather wrapped in a chain all displayed over a motto in a language he couldn't read. He showed it to Isabella.  
  
“Tevene,” she replied, “Can't work it all out though. Something about beauty.”  
  
Well that solved the problem of the unknown accents. Their attackers were from Tevinter. Which meant there was a good chance that elf...  
  
He looked up only to be greeted by a stunning pair of green eyes. The elf hadn't gone anywhere whilst they'd looted the place. From the danger they were in, Hawke had thought the elf might want to bolt to somewhere safer. They did however look like they'd taken their pick as well. They had acquired a set of gloves from one of the bodies and had since tucked them into a trouser pocket.  
  
“Hey,” Hawke tried, “Any chance of explaining your little set up here? They were after you.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Isabella still by the body she was looting. Anders and Varric weren't too far behind them. They were all silent.  
  
“Indeed, they were,” said the elf. Hawke almost jumped. That was a deep voice for such a small and beautiful person. Yes, admittedly, he could see now that the elf was undeniably muscular and clearly immensely strong from how easily they'd swung that pipe about. Still there was no saying someone couldn't be built and beautiful. The vivid eyes, the strong jaw, the swirling white tattoos, all gorgeous... Including those the jaw-dropping thighs, the bare skin of which were visible a little through the elf's tattered jeans Hawkee truly wouldn't mind having those thighs either side of his – He could see from Isabella's smirk that his expression must have glazed. The elf looked a  little confused for a moment before frowning and continuing:  
  
“I must thank you. When I asked Anso for his assistance, I didn't imagine he'd find a group who were quite so... capable.”  
  
The elf cast an undoubtedly wary eye across them all, half-bent over dead bodies. Their gaze lingered on the large blood stains dying Hawke's shirt crimson.  
  
 “As you have gathered, those men were from the Tevinter Imperium. They were here to find a Magister's lost property – myself. I would rather have not involved anyone else in this, but as you saw, they were far too numerous to be taken on alone.”  
  
Hawke was swift to hide his initial confusion. Slavery was illegal. You couldn't own people as property, even if the lives of elves were pretty awful around here. However he had heard nothing but dark rumours about Tevinter and when it came to specifics about the place, he knew nothing. Research could come later though. There were other things that didn't add up.  
  
“This seems like a lot of men for one elf,” he commented. Varric and Anders had clearly given up pretending to pick pocket and were wandering over to join them.  
  
“Yes,” replied the elf, “It is.” They fisted one hand by their side and Hawke was instantly reminded of the fact that hand had gone through someone.  
  
“I'm guessing it has something to do with those markings of yours?” he enquired, keeping his tone light, “I reckon putting your hand through someone's chest can't be a common party trick, even in Tevinter.”  
  
“No it isn't.” If the elf had found his light-hearted approach amusing, he hadn't shown it.  
  
“You are right however in saying it is the markings they are after. My former master wishes to strip them from my bones and has sent no end of hunters after me to make his wish a reality. However that ends tonight. If you are willing to assist me further.”  
  
The elf's grip tightened on the pipe, which stood at his side at ease. However if that was truly his choice of weapon this 'assistance' wasn't going to involve a lift somewhere, or help disarming some security. The pain in his chest stated that providing this assistance was an incredibly bad idea.  On the other hand, the part of him that scorned pot-pourri and wanted to help a beautiful elf find freedom, was proving very persuasive.  
  
“What do you need assist-” Hawke was cut across by Anders. Perhaps his preferences were truly that obvious.  
  
“What's saying this isn't another trick?” the ex-doctor demanded, “And are we even getting paid for this mess?” He turned from glaring at the elf to shoot a look at Hawke. It was the sort of look that let him know he was being very irresponsible. The throbbing pain only drove that point home.  
  
“You will still be paid,” the elf replied, seemingly unaffected by Ander's accusatory tone.  
  
“By myself however, not by Anso. It will have to wait however until I have confronted my master. As soon as he discovers what has transpired here, Danarius will leave the city and be beyond my grasp. Time is of the essence. As for whether this is a trick, that is up for you to decide. I however must go.”  
  
A glance at Varric and Isabella showed they had no obvious objections. Or they were holding their tongues.  
  
“What type of man is this Danarius?” Hawke asked.  A man who kept slaves could never have a heart of gold, but he could care to know a little more before they ran off blindly with a stranger. He'd made enough reckless decisions today.  
  
“He is a Magister of Tevinter,” replied the elf, “Therefore he is a powerful blood mage-”  
  
Hawke stood up a little straighter. Isabella snickered. Anders groaned. Taken aback by this reaction, the elf stopped mid-sentence and stared at them all. Hawke however determinately stepped in to fill the ensuing silence.  
  
“If it's a chance to take down slavers and blood mages, we'll help you.  We'll all help you.”  
  
He was ready to remind Anders about his earlier comment about him being the leader in these things. If he was so insistent Hawke made the decisions, like he had been doing for the last three years, he might as well follow said decisions like a champ. He considered for a moment how to word that in a non-confrontational manner. However he was spared the trouble by Varric.  
  
“All right, if time really is pressing us, let's go. Lead the way Elf.”  
  
“Yes, thank you.” The elf had been eying Hawke curiously since his proclamation of help. However at Varric's insistence they dropped their pipe with a clatter and turned to the road's entrance.  
  
“Let us go. Danarius' manor is not too far from here.”  They wasted no more time and strode off on, as Hawke then noticed, bare and bloody feet.  
  
“Right.” Hawke set off in pursuit, slapping a hand to his chest, alleviating the pain a little more as he did up his jacket.  
  
“So,” he called after the elf, sprinting to catch up, “Do you have a name? What do I call you?”  
  
They paused only for a moment to reply. Or perhaps they needed to get their bearings at the street corner.    
  
“Fenris. And he, if you must.”  
  
“Got it,” Hawke finally caught up. He'd like to offer Fenris his hand but that didn't seem practical right this moment.  
  
 “I'm Phillip Hawke, but I go by Hawke. Also a he.”  
  
“Noted,” said Fenris.  
  
Their run lapsed into mildly awkward silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note to say, thank you for reading. Also that the opinions of Phillip Hawke about his companions do not reflect my own views of those characters. 
> 
> As my first ever Hawke he ended up angering a lot of people and I decided to roll with that because it was interesting. 
> 
> Comments are of course appreciated!


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